Ah, this essay was a total thrill to read! Being held -- carried by the world, held in the arms of trees, the arms of beloveds, the backs of rocks, the buoyancy of water -- is, for me, the central joy living. I felt held, here, in this essay, by the brilliant shifts of gentle unveiling, like passing through hands. Held and nourished by juicy bursts of revelation ( "maintenant" = held in the hand! omg, life-changing!) and stroked into relaxing, into knowing, into the kinship I find here. THANK YOU Caro, for these delicious words, and for being here in the now-time. Somewhere in this now-time I am in a fallow field in France, on my 17th trip around the sun, reading that poem by Blake and transfixed by awe and glee, ecstatic with recognition but also isolated by it. Thank you for this abundant broadcast, may it beam out in all directions! Thank you for holding us.
Illuminating, as always. I often wonder how 'embodied' an experience writing (as opposed to crafting) is for most authors – especially now that most of us write directly into a machine rather even than with a pen onto paper that is tactile ... But for me, writing is always an act of co-creation with the land – I'm 'translating' my relationship with it into words via the machine, but it always comes out of the land in the first place. To the extent that when I'm in a place I can't much relate to (as I am now) my imagination is often crippled. So when I'm sitting inside at a desk writing into a machine, I'm conjuring up images and stories from the land in my imagination, even if it doesn't seem directly relevant to what I'm writing about. If that makes sense :-)
Ah, this essay was a total thrill to read! Being held -- carried by the world, held in the arms of trees, the arms of beloveds, the backs of rocks, the buoyancy of water -- is, for me, the central joy living. I felt held, here, in this essay, by the brilliant shifts of gentle unveiling, like passing through hands. Held and nourished by juicy bursts of revelation ( "maintenant" = held in the hand! omg, life-changing!) and stroked into relaxing, into knowing, into the kinship I find here. THANK YOU Caro, for these delicious words, and for being here in the now-time. Somewhere in this now-time I am in a fallow field in France, on my 17th trip around the sun, reading that poem by Blake and transfixed by awe and glee, ecstatic with recognition but also isolated by it. Thank you for this abundant broadcast, may it beam out in all directions! Thank you for holding us.
Illuminating, as always. I often wonder how 'embodied' an experience writing (as opposed to crafting) is for most authors – especially now that most of us write directly into a machine rather even than with a pen onto paper that is tactile ... But for me, writing is always an act of co-creation with the land – I'm 'translating' my relationship with it into words via the machine, but it always comes out of the land in the first place. To the extent that when I'm in a place I can't much relate to (as I am now) my imagination is often crippled. So when I'm sitting inside at a desk writing into a machine, I'm conjuring up images and stories from the land in my imagination, even if it doesn't seem directly relevant to what I'm writing about. If that makes sense :-)
Thank you for this! I wholeheartedly agree, this culture has no idea what it has thrown away.
That reference to 'being a beast'... Charles Foster wrote an acclaimed book with that as the title. Have you read it and if so do you recommend it?